Crush
by timeworn grace
Summary: Filling a prompt from Glee Angst meme on LJ.  Hazing goes too far. How could they have known that their "prank" would end with the car rear-ended?  M because I'm not sure how mean I will be.
1. Chapter 1

The fact that this had been a good week, relatively speaking, should have set off alarms, Kurt thought wearily as Dave Karofsky stepped out from behind the dark bulk of Navigator into the narrow space between it and the car parked beside it, and loomed over him. Only two slushie attacks, but nothing else more deliberately targeted than the occasional casual shove in the hallway or passing crude insult. He should have known they were saving up for something special.

(Maybe staying after to run through the new Cheerios routine with Santana and Brittany and Becky had been a bad idea, after all- the three girls had all gone off to meet Becky's dad out front, leaving him headed, alone, for the parking lot behind the school just after detention had let out, as well.)

He gripped the strap of his bag and unconsciously glanced over the make sure his car was ok -and, thank all the little gods of fashion, it was- even as he backed up a couple of steps.

That, naturally, brought him right up against Karofsky's (unexpectedly cat-footed) partner in delinquency as he rounded the Navigator's front fender. Kurt recoiled from contact with Azimio's bulk immediately, which didn't stop the jock from growling in disgust and shoving their now-trapped prey back towards the other jock.

Whatever they had in mind, Kurt knew, it could only end badly for him, if he didn't act fast. He didn't have to take them both, he just had to surprise them and make an opening. He could mourn the damage to his bag later; for now, he threw it at Karofsky's face and dropped prone to shimmy under the undercarriage of the Navigator as the startled jock caught it. Thankful that he'd worn jeans instead of the more delicate trousers he'd contemplated in planning his wardrobe last week, he scooted further underneath on elbows and knees as both of the other boys lunged for him, swearing.

He was quick, but Azimio reacted just as fast. A hand clamped around his ankle before he could get out of reach, and he was dragged back out from under the SUV, scraping his hands and knees as he fought for purchase against the stronger boy. When Karofsky caught his other leg, he gave up, and let them haul him to his feet between them, each gripping one of his arms firmly.

"Hey, there, Fancy," Karofsky sneered, "that's not very friendly of you. We just want you to take a ride with us." He looked Kurt over head to toe, and shook his head in mock regret. "And you went and ruined your clothes to avoid our invitation."

"Yeah," Azimio added, "like we do all the new athletes. Too bad you quit before we could... invite you." Azimio dropped an arm around Kurt's shoulder in what could have been mistaken for a friendly gesture. "You cold, Hummel?"

Kurt stiffened under the bigger boy's arm, trying to control the shaking that he hoped was the only sign of the fear that swept over him like an icy wave. From this side of his baby, the bulk of the car hid all three of them from the school windows, Kurt realized with trepidation. Keeping his voice level, he raised his chin haughtily, looked at the hockey player as if he'd just scraped the bigger boy off his shoe, and asked coolly, "What would make you think I would want to go anywhere with you, David?"

Karofsky's eyes narrowed angrily, and he cuffed the smaller boy in the side of the head, growling, "Watch your tongue, pretty boy, or you'll be sorry!" Kurt's ability to formulate a witty comeback seemed to be thwarted by the sudden explosion of pain as his head rocked with the blow and the alarming way it made the world blur out of focus.

* * *

Puck usually skipped detention like he skipped math class, but this time he was flirting with a suspension, and he knew it. Since he cared more about his extracurricular fun (even glee club, though he'd dumpster anyone who suggested it) he'd shown up this time, and spent the hour and a half trading sneers and spitballs with Karofsky, who'd actually been caught red-handed (well, blue, actually) tossing a slushie at Goth Chick's face earlier that day. When they'd been released, Karofsky had met up with his usual wing-man in the hallway, and they'd high-fived each other as Azimio leaned in to tell Karofsky something that made the big buffoon look way too happy. Both of them seemed to be in a pretty good mood for guys who'd had to stay after, and that made Puck suspicious. He knew what put him in such a good mood, and it wasn't usually good for the target of his... high spirits.

So when they'd headed for the back lot, he'd trailed them at a discreet distance. After all, he was trying to follow 'Cedes' advice, and be a better man. Besides, busting up _their_ fun might provide him some.

He'd slipped into a classroom that overlooked the parking lot to see what they were up to, and watched them get into Azimio's beat-up little Toyota. He'd assumed that they'd take off, and he almost regretted missing whatever they had planned, but they just moved the car, parking it again next to-

Kurt Hummel's Navigator. Kurt hadn't had the car back for long, but with winter coming along, fast, his dad had given in to the logic of four-wheel drive and tons of steel protecting his boy from the dangers of winter driving. Puck wondered what they were up to as they got out of the car again and disappeared around behind its tailgate. They didn't have any paint cans, so they weren't planning to deface it, at least. Puck might have to intervene if they did. That beast was a real beauty, and while Puck didn't care how Hummel felt about it, he'd be damned if he'd let them destroy its perfect finish.

He wasn't left wondering for long. Almost as soon as they were out of sight, Hummel himself came out of the school, heading for the car. He'd been wearing his cheerios uniform earlier, but he'd clearly stopped to change into a pair of those really tight jeans he preferred (and Puck had to wonder if that was the secret to how he hit those high notes, really, because that was just NOT normal) and a dark blue jacket that probably cost more than Puck's mom's car had. He disappeared around the far side of the car. Azimio came around the front of the Navigator, moving in behind Kurt. So, it was an ambush, then.

Puck hung back at the window a moment longer, debating. He had an idea of what was on their minds now. It was practically a tradition for freshman players: the older players would lock one or two of the new kids in the trunk of one of their cars, and drive them to the outskirts of town. They'd leave the newbie there to make their way home on their own, or sometimes, if they like the kid, they'd give him directions to the pizza place where they'd all be waiting and buy the kid's dinner when he got there. It could be scary, but harmless. If they liked the kid, there was free pizza and acceptance as "one of the guys" once he got through the "ordeal."

If they liked the new kid.

They did not like Hummel.

Just as he was about to go looking for Schue, or even Coach Sylvester, the pair came out from behind the SUV, with Hummel between them. He wasn't walking so well, and there was something odd about how he held his arms. And even from here, in the late afternoon light, Puck could see that the knees of his jeans were torn. Azimio almost seemed to be holding him upright as Karofsky unlocked the trunk and opened it.

Puck cursed. "Come on, Hummel, if there was ever a time to fight back..." He watched as Azimio spun the smaller boy by the shoulders into Karofsky's grip and bent to catch his ankles in a move they'd perfected over by the dumpsters. And suddenly, as they dropped him into the trunk and shut the lid, Puck found himself racing for the door, because he'd seen what was wrong with Kurt's arms.

They were, somehow, bound behind his back.

That ...was new.

* * *

When his vision started to clear, the first thing Kurt had focused on had been the object in Karofsky's fist, an object that had made his adrenaline spike painfully as he tried to pull away from Azimio's grip. A roll of silver duct tape. But Karofsky just backhanded him again, and Kurt found himself gagging on the coppery tang of blood in his mouth even as he reeled back against Azimio.

Karofsky raised the roll of duct tape and tore off a strip as Azimio wrenched Kurt's arms behind him. The first strip was quickly slapped across Kurt's mouth, and there went any belated thought of shouting for help. He was shoved against the side of the Navigator and tried to mule-kick at the pair (he connected once, hard, but they just pulled him back and slammed him into the SUV's door again), and some one's hand planted in the middle of his back held him there while they taped his wrists together.

For a second he found himself facing his own reflection in the tinted window, his own wide eyes gazing at him like a desperate stranger's over the dark gash of the tape and the spreading blotch marking where Karofsky had struck him. Kurt could feel the tears welling up, tears of anger and terror, and he fought to control them, not letting them become more than a trace of moisture as they spun him back around to face them again. He hated those tears, his visceral reaction to anger and frustration, and to guys like Karofsky and Azimio, an expected sign of weakness.

Azimio rubbed at the spot on his shin where Kurt's foot had connected, scowling at Kurt angrily "That was stupid, fairy," he snarled, doubling his fist and driving it into Kurt's gut. Kurt folded over his fist, fighting for breath, fighting _not_ to throw up, hampered by the tape gag, and sagged to his knees as Azimio stepped back and kicked him in the side. There was a roaring in his ears and the world went dim, but even over the roar, he could hear Karofsky talking, and felt two pairs of hands haul him to his feet, and Azimio walking him over towards their car.

He'd barely had time to register what they intended before he found himself dumped unceremoniously into the trunk, and the lid slammed shut, leaving him in darkness.

* * *

By the time Puck reached the parking lot, they were heading for the far end. He stood there for a long moment watching them go, swerving sharply from side to side in a way he knew was designed to knock their involuntary passenger around and make him carsick. His fists clenched involuntarily as they peeled out of the lot.

He'd have to do _something_. Not because he felt any need to rescue Hummel - hell, he'd have done the ordeal himself, the right way, if he'd thought of it- but he wouldn't tie the kid up, that wasn't cool. Not how the game was played.

And because he'd promised. He'd practically promised Hummel he'd have his back. He'd promised _them_ they'd pay for it the next time they messed with anyone from glee. Well, beyond the normal stuff. Slushies were one thing, and he knew now himself how nasty a slushie to the face was. But beating Hummel up was not on the list of things they were allowed to do, and he thought he'd made that clear.

Besides, he knew how they felt about Hummel, and he didn't think it would take much for them to take this way beyond the normal hazing ordeal. Once they were away from the school, would they really control their fists? He knew Hummel could endure a lot, could endure their words, all the harassment they dished out in the course of a school day (and he had to admit, grudgingly, that he sorta admired the little shrimp for it), but there were limits...

He yanked his phone out of his pocket. He and Finn weren't best friends any more, and he knew the Finn and Hummel had had their problems getting along as well, but they were a team, they were bros, in a strange way. He speed-dialed Finn. Just as the connection was made and he heard Finn say his name, his phone went dead.

Muttering a string of curses that would have curled Mr. Schuester's hair... more... he spun around to survey the parking lot. His eyes locked on the Navigator. He ran over to it, checking swiftly under each wheel well for a spare key. Nope. Should have known Hummel wouldn't leave a spare where anyone could get to it. He thumped a fist against the fender in frustration, and started back around the Lincoln. As he did, something sticking out from part way under the SUV caught his eye. Hummel's bag. He hooked the strap with one foot and pulled it out, its contents spilling across the pavement. Including a shiny ring of car keys.

Scooping them up, he unlocked the door and swung up into the driver's seat. He huffed out a quick breath, refusing to let the gleaming interior and multitude of instruments shining up at him intimidate him (he was Puckasaurus REX, dammit!) - or the sheer size of the beast, or the fact that he was actually thinking of driving a vehicle worth more than the Puckerman household made in the course of a calendar year. He put the key into the ignition, and started the engine.

He knew exactly where they would be headed. Guiding the SUV carefully out of the parking lot, he took off in pursuit.


	2. Chapter 2

As the car picked up speed, crossing the parking lot like it was a slalom course, Kurt fought to control his rebelling stomach and focus on thinking things through. His dad had once made him sit through some documentary about what to teach kids to do if they've been kidnapped, a long time ago. Kurt had barely paid attention, since that sort of thing would never happen to him. Not in Lima. He tried to remember what the reassuring host had said that you should do if you're locked in the trunk of a moving car. After a few minutes, he found that he was calming down a little bit and starting to think more carefully.

He was sure that there had been some sort of acronym involved to help remember the steps, but he couldn't remember what, so he figured the best thing to do was try to figure out what he could about his surroundings.

The trunk of the Toyota was small, and cramped. He was lying on top of a big duffel bag, probably filled with sweat-stained jock things; it kind of felt like football pads and smelled like the locker room. Once the car hit the road and Azimio stopped bouncing him around like a pinball, he wriggled off of it as much as he could, squirming until he rested against the back of the rear seats on the floor of the trunk. The process left him winded, and it was really hard to catch his breath with his mouth taped over. He lay still, breathing heavily, and tried to think.

He could hear and feel the heavy bass beat coming from the stereo speakers that filled the back seat, vibrating in his bones and making his aching head pound. So banging on the trunk lid wouldn't help. And he wasn't sure he wanted *their* attention. What else had the program said about trying to get attention from someone outside the car?

The flash of the tail-lights in the darkness reminded him. A broken tail-light would attract attention, maybe even a policeman. He wasn't sure how much good it would do if he couldn't find a way to make enough noise to get someone to look in the trunk, though. You were supposed to try to stick your hand out the opening, if you could kick out the tail-light, and that wasn't an option.

It was dangerous, too, he thought, the practical, mechanic's-son side of him reminded him, if there was anyone close behind them.

After all, what were they planning to do? He'd heard about this form of hazing, and what they probably had in mind was leaving him somewhere just outside the town limits and making him walk home. Granted, he'd never heard of anyone else getting bound and gagged, but maybe they didn't mention it because it was embarrassing.

Realistically, he knew that this was not going to be a normal case. Karofsky and Azimio really seemed to have a need to punish him for simply daring to exist, and thereby make them "uncomfortable." He challenged their world view. It was far too late to change that, even if there was anything he could even do about it. He just had to hope that they would be satisfied with leaving him out in the middle of nowhere with no phone or money, bruised and disheveled (and deafened by the loud rap music beating against his back).

Great. His best option was trusting to Azimio and Karofsky having enough restraint or human decency mot to mess him up too much to get home under his own steam. If they had better natures, he certainly hadn't seen them in years. He hoped they weren't buried too far.

He might have to be prepared to put aside his pride and let them think they'd won, that they'd broken him. This was not a situation where stubborn defiance would work in his favor. And he'd have to mind his tongue. He'd have to act... meek.

* * *

Puck had run a couple of lights trying to catch up with Azimio's car, then backed off as he realized that he would be in no position to help Kurt at all if he crashed the SUV or got arrested. Part of him reveled in the chance to drive the vehicle: all restrained power and sexy, smooth handling... it kind of reminded him of him, really.

It also occurred to him that following too close might spook Zim and Karofsky to do something stupid. Thinking it through, it wasn't like he was going to charge in and fight them to rescue Hummel. He needed a plan.

He certainly wasn't playing white knight all on his own. For one thing, he did not need Hummel crushing on him next. For another, it wasn't even like he liked Hummel all that much, but glee club needed his voice. Besides, Puck didn't actually want to see Hummel hurt for real. That wasn't because of any touchy-feely glee club "Lean on me" friendship thing, that was Puck kind of trying to be a decent human being, sort of. Two big guys like that beating on a little guy like Hummel, just for being a fruit loop, that just wasn't cool.

And together 'Zim and Karofsky could totally take _him_, though he'd never admit that.

Since he knew where they were headed, he could afford to fall back a little and not worry too much about keeping up anyway.

Easing back on the gas a little, he tried to picture the route. There was an abandoned farm on the outskirts of town, the buildings ramshackle and falling down, the woods beginning to reclaim the empty fields. It was hidden from the road by a thick line of trees as well, but there was a path, if you knew where it was. The guys used it for paintball, and sometimes as a place to hang out and drink.

The also used it for this "ordeal."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:

Sorry about the fail earlier. I hope this fixes it. There's a little bonus material at the end, since I finished the next section while I was trying to figure this out. When I put this on LJ, they were separate sections with a cliffhanger in the middle, so you don't have to deal with the suspense if you read it here...

* * *

Kurt had lost track of the turns and stops and it was starting to panic him. He had no idea how far they'd come, or how long they'd been driving, really, and he was starting to lose his composure. At this rate, it wasn't going to be hard to convince Azimio and Karofsky he was cowed. He was starting to feel hysteria building up, making it hard to breathe.

He had pushed himself back as far against the seat back as he could, curled up on his side. His head rested against the wheel well, his feet braced against the side just below the other one.

The arm he was lying on was numb, and they'd taped his wrists so tightly that both his hands were numb as well. He'd tried to work them free but had had no luck. He was well and truly stuck. He hated feeling helpless, hated the uncertainty... hated being so completely at their mercy.

Damn it, he told himself firmly, he was not going to work himself up. Tears right now would be a disaster; it was hard enough to breathe. He tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing, on calming down.

The car slowed, and he felt it pull off the road onto softer ground. His heart pounded as the music behind him cut off abruptly. Wherever they were heading, it seemed like they were here. The doors opened; slammed shut. His heart raced - he was almost literally choking on fear and anticipatory dread.

The trunk opened and a hulking form loomed in the opening. It had gotten dark outside while they travelled. Azimio's voice carried back "- with the paintball gear, in the bag. And close the trunk, there's a car coming!"

"Got it!" Karofsky called back. He caught site of how Kurt had wedged himself as far back as he could, and grinned at him. "Don't worry, Fancy," he said mockingly, "I'll be right back, we haven't forgotten about you."

"Hurry up!" Azimio yelled. We need the flashlights, and we don't want them spotting him."

"Coming, already," Karofsky growled. He yanked the bag out of the trunk and slammed the lid again. Kurt released the breath he'd been holding and drew in another shaky one.

Then-

-Azimio's panicked shout-

-long screech of brakes-

-a soft thump-

-_sickeningcrunch**NOISE**_-

-_and**JOLT**andtorturedshriekofmetal_-

-_andcrushing**PAIN**_-

-bright light-

-darkness-

* * *

Puck pulled over as Azimio's car took the last turn towards the abandoned farm. He shut off the headlights and eased the Navigator around the corner as well, following their headlights until they stopped. He pulled the Navigator over where he could see them as they pulled the car over.

He had just pulled his phone out of his pocket on the off chance that somehow he could make one more call to Finn when the Navigator rocked as a pickup truck tore past at close enough to clip the rear-view mirror off the driver's side door. Puck dropped the phone, cursing, and stared as the driver over-corrected, swerving wildly across to the other side of the road, then caroming back to the right-

"Oh, shhhh-," Puck breathed, as the truck veered too far to the right and headed straight for the back of Azimio's old Camry. The driver finally hit the brakes, but far too late, and it fishtailed wildly even further to the right, the brakes screaming like a live thing in agony.

Puck gripped the steering wheel in a death-grip, staring in horror as the truck first struck -was it Karofksy? - and threw his body over the car, then crashed into the rear of the Camry at a crazy angle and stopped... dead.

He flung himself out of the Navigator, racing down the road, past the truck without a second glance, and pulled up short as he took in the damage to the car. The truck had collided squarely in the center of the trunk. The car was a good two feet shorter, the metal of the trunk lid crushed and twisted into the compartment.

"God," he whispered. "_Hummel_..."

Azimio grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. "Puckerman! You have a car? You have to help me – we have to get Dave to the hospital!" He started to drag Puck towards where Karofsky was sprawled on the shoulder of the road.

It only took a glance to realize that a hospital couldn't do anything to help Karofsky now. "Azimio," he said, shaking the other boy. "Call 911. I've gotta check on Hummel."

Azimio had pulled out his phone to dial, but he looked up as Puck pulled away and headed back towards the car, grabbing at his arm again. "The hell- _Hummel?_ Puckerman, Dave is—"

Puck spun around, jabbing a finger towards Karofsky's body. "Dave is _dead_, Azimio! And Hummel may very well be dead, too! Now let go of me, and let me go check, because he's gonna need help if he _isn't_ dead, and you better call goddamn 911 right now!" He spun on his heel and stalked back to the car. Was that gasoline he could smell?

When Azimio grabbed him again, he lost it. "Your best friend is dead because of your _stupid_ prank, and there's a _kid tied up in the trunk,_ who you might have killed, too! Now do something useful and dial 911, or give me the phone and get the hell out of my way!" Azimio looked back at Karofsky's body where it lay just at the edge of the light cast by his headlights, and slowly collapsed to the ground. Cursing, Puck snatched the cell phone from his slackened grip and dialed 911 himself. As soon as he heard a voice on the other end, he heard his own voice reply, "There's been an accident, two cars, looks like at least one guy is dead, I'm checking on the rest, send cops, fire, and at least three ambulances, and a tow truck." He finished with the street name and hung up, absent-mindedly tucking the cell into a pocket and resting shaking hands on the crumpled lid of the trunk. It was hopeless; the nose of the truck was basically parked in the trunk.

He kicked something - a flashlight – and picked it up, flicking it on and shining it on the car. There was a spot where the lid buckled up and he thought he might be able to see inside. Shining the light inside, he called out. "Hummel? Kurt?" He could see a thatch of brown hair, (matted with blood, oh, god...) and his heart nearly stopped when it moved slightly and a faint moan reached his ears. "Ok, Hummel, hang on I'm gonna get you out, just don't you dare die on me, or I'll burn that blue jacket you love so much, just watch and see if I don't."

* * *

More tomorrow, maybe I can finish this. Sweet dreams~


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't even know whether or not Kurt could hear him – or whether he was really conscious enough to understand him. He looked at the trunk again, trying to figure out how bad things really were inside.

The truck had hit the Toyota at an angle, the corner of the front fender colliding with it a little way below where Puck could see Kurt's head resting. Most of the rest of the trunk was buckled up and pushed over. Crushed in just about as far back as the wheels in a v-shape, worst in the middle, where he figured the boy's chest would be. If he'd been far enough back, it might not be too bad, he might even have missed having his legs hurt too badly… if. So _much_ "if." And no matter what, it was plenty tight in there, and there was a lot of jagged, torn metal…

He could smell gas, even more sharply than before. He looked down under the car, where a puddle of liquid was slowly growing. Tank must have been damaged. He had to move the truck. And he realized he hadn't even checked on the idiot driver of the pickup. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty, but he'd better do it now and see if there was a hope of getting the truck moved.

He found that he kind of hated to leave Hummel alone there, but there was no one else. One glance over at Azimio showed that the jock was not going to be any help at all—he was still sitting beside Karofsy's body, staring at a puddle of blood and looking like he might be sick. He certainly wasn't going to be any help.

Reaching the side of the truck, he shone the flashlight in through the window. The driver was slumped over the wheel, but as the light played over him, he raised his head. There was a bloody gash where he'd hit the wheel with his forehead and his eyes weren't focusing well. Beyond him on the seat, Puck could see an empty vodka bottle. Puck snorted derisively and banged on the door. He'd have to do it himself, after he moved the Lincoln. "Come on moron, out of the truck."

He ran to the Navigator, still sitting there with the door open and the lights on, chiming because he had left the door open. He'd better move it before the cops hit it or something. Besides, the headlights would make things easier – the flashlight was already starting to dim. As he climbed up into the seat, he saw the pickup's tail-lights flash and heard the engine roar into life.

He put the Lincoln into gear and rolled forward, gritting his teeth when he saw the white lights that meant it was in reverse and heard the truck's engine rev. It rocked back, hung up where the bumper of the truck caught on the Camry's rear bumper, and the driver let it roll forward. Rock back, crunch forward, rock, and crunch. Puck stopped in the middle of the road, punched the button for the emergency flashers, and flipped the high beams on, cringing every time the other driver let the truck roll forward. Rage ignited when he jumped down and heard the sound: every time the truck lurched back forward, an agonized, muffled _scream_ rose from the Camry.

* * *

A voice calling his name dragged Kurt back up into awareness. The world had shrunk into a very small, dark space lined with sharp jagged edges and filled with pain. Kurt couldn't move, could just about breathe. It felt like his chest was wrapped tight in barbed wire. Panicking, unthinking, he struggled to writhe away from the pressure on his ribs, but there was nowhere to go. He collapsed back against the wall behind him, remembering where he was and starting to realize what had happened. The car had been hit.

He _hurt_. Everywhere.

He'd cracked his head hard on the wheel-well, which had probably been what had knocked him out, and he could feel blood slowly trickling down across his forehead and into his hair. He couldn't think about where else he might be bleeding…

One knee felt like it was being slowly squeezed in a vise, and the wall of the trunk lid was the source of the pressure on his chest as well as the knife-like torn edges of metal he could feel digging into him.

Someone had called him, he had heard his name, hadn't he? Someone was out there, and they'd get him out. Even Karofsky wouldn't just leave him here, even Azimio would try to get him out –wouldn't he? Unless they were… Karofsky had been right there just before the crash. He felt sick just thinking about it.

He tried to call out, even though he knew it would just be muffled sounds through the tape gag, to make enough noise just to let them know he was still alive, awake, and please, god, please, someone, _please hear me_. Please _help me_.

And then the car began to move. To rock, away, and back. Every time it rocked back, fresh waves of agony swept over him, and the metal digging into his skin slashed at him, and he felt a rib crack and he couldn't help it he was screaming into the gag and it _hurt so much_ and the darkness was roaring back to claim him and he was falling in….


	5. Chapter 5

Puck flew over the pavement to the truck, throwing himself against the door. The screaming from the car had suddenly ended, and the silence was horribly worse than the screaming. "Stop!" he screamed. "Stop it! _There's someone in there!"_ When the drunk just looked at him blankly and rocked the car back again, Puck had had enough. He could hear the sirens now, help was minutes away, but this guy could kill Hummel without even knowing it in a matter of seconds if he hadn't already, and he had to be _stopped_.

He yanked the door open and grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt, dragging him out of the truck and throwing him to the pavement. When the guy came up swinging, Puck danced away from his poorly aimed fist and jabbed at him, rocking him back on his heels. As he fell back a wavering step, Puck reached into the cab of the truck and turned off the engine, wincing as it rolled forward again to rest against the wrecked car. He had just stashed the keys in the pocket of his jeans along with the keys to the Navigator when the drunk tackled him.

They were rolling in the road (Puck was gagging from the alcohol fumes just pouring off the guy) when the cop cars pulled up, sirens screaming. There were suddenly hands pulling them apart and Puck found himself on his feet, held against the side of the truck by a tall woman in uniform while the other cop wrestled the belligerent drunk into submission. He sagged against the truck, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing heavily, catching his breath as relief flooded through him. At last. At last it didn't all depend on him. Not that he couldn't handle it, but…

The cop turned to him, and he heard her breath hitch in surprise. "Puckerman?" He looked up into her face and recognized one of his "cougars." He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. She shook his arm a little. "Noah! What the hell is going on here?" she hissed.

He took a deep breath, and suddenly this, _this_, explaining, became the hard part. Spotting Azimio heading for them, dragged out of his stupor by the lights, he pointed. "These guys, him and his friend, from my school… they… They threw a kid into the trunk and brought him out here to leave him in the woods, like… hazing… but this guy hit the car…" He suddenly grabbed her arm, started to drag her towards the car, not even noticing when the other cop's gaze on them sharpened and his hand dropped to the gun at his side, as hers did as well, for that matter. "He's still in there, you gotta help him."

She drew in a sharp breath and shot a disbelieving look at the other officer and ran over to the car, drawing out the flashlight from her belt. She flashed it into the same small opening Puck had looked through, and Puck, close on her heels, heard her swear under her breath as she turned, her expression one of mingled shock and fury.

Azimio was leading the ambulance attendant over to where Karofsky lay and Puck was not having it. Breaking away from the policewoman, he ran over. "Don't you freaking DARE," he snarled at Azimio. "Karovsky doesn't need them!" he shouted, fists raised and ready. "Stay out of the way."

The cop grabbed his arm again, drew him away. "Noah, that's not helping. We are going to get that kid out of the trunk, don't worry." He allowed her to pull him away, glaring darkly at Azimio, who still seemed stunned.

The EMT shot the policewoman a look over the boy's shoulder; she beckoned him over to look into the car. "We'll take care of the other one, you get to work on this—he needs you more." She gave Puck a little shake.

"You go sit down before you fall down," she told him over her shoulder as she strode toward Azimio. Before he knew what was happening, she had escorted him to her patrol car and locked him inside. The drunk was cuffed and locked in the other patrol car.

All around Puck the emergency personnel went into motion, the fire fighters breaking into two groups. One got to work on hosing away the gasoline from the Camry's cracked tank – careful not to spray water into the trunk - while the rest went to help the EMTs figure out how they were going to extract Kurt from the car. The two officers checked on Karofsky and covered the body with a tarp. Puck stood and watched for a moment, feeling suddenly useless at the center of all the activity swirling around the scene.

The EMT signaled to him, drawing him back to the Camry. "You know this kid? " At his nod, the EMT went on, "Can you just stay here with him? Talk to him. We can't get anything coherent from him, but maybe a voice he knows will help."

Puck thought about saying that Hummel might prefer a stranger's voice to his, that he was a bad choice if what they wanted was something to soothe or comfort this guy, especially when he was probably scared to death and hurting. But as he neared the car, he remembered how Hummel's face had looked when Finn and the rest of the glee club, including him, had showed up in time to prevent Azimio and Karofsky from pounding him just last week. And there was no one else.

Then he was close enough to lean in and press his ear to the opening and hear the labored breathing and tiny, pained sounds, and what could he do? "Kurt. Hey, Hummel, you there?"

He tried to make his tone threatening. "Dude, I was _not_ kidding, you are not allowed to die on me here. I will seriously torch your whole closet. I'll… I'll nail your lawn furniture to the roof again. I'll paint your car hot pink. Come on, Hummel, answer me…." All he could hear was a muffled whimpering.

He looked through the opening but without the light he couldn't see anything. "Kurt! Come on, dude, please. You've always got something to say. Insult me, say something about my wardrobe… make fun of my stupid hair…"

He looked up as a tow truck pulled up next to the pickup and a couple of men in coveralls started preparing to jack up the front of the truck so they could pull it away without rocking the Camry too badly. He wasn't paying too much attention, except to be sure they knew to be careful; his policewoman was talking to one of them, gesturing to where the firefighters and EMTs were conferring. When she moved away from the side of the truck to cross back over towards where he stood, the logo on the tow-truck came into abrupt focus and he nearly doubled over.

She ran the last few steps to catch him—it looked like an invisible fist had punched him in the gut. The shock must be hitting him, finally, she thought. But when she reached his side and asked him what was wrong, he seemed to shake it off and straightened up immediately. When she asked him again what was wrong, he just pointed at the tow truck, and she was left confused. "Hummel's? What's wrong with Hummel's?"

He shot her a look full of desperation. "The kid in the trunk… is Kurt Hummel."


	6. Chapter 6

As Kurt had become aware of his uncomfortable surroundings again, he'd also become aware that the universe had a cruel sense of irony. The voice that had called to him, pulled him from the relative peace of semi-consciousness, belonged to Noah Puckerman. Noah Puckerman, threatening him, with a series of ever more ridiculous punishments if he didn't say something right _now_. And worse if he managed to _die_ on Noah's watch.

It was almost funny. He'd have to remember to laugh later.

And that was a good sign, too, he thought, the fact that he was thinking sort of clearly again, for however long that lasted.)

At least everything was relatively still now. The car wasn't moving. That had been decidedly bad. Not just because he was pretty sure that whatever was repeatedly banging back into the car had cracked a rib, making breathing awfully painful, but because he had been made aware that one of those torn bits of metal had actually ended up underneath his side, just below his ribs. He was really afraid that if the trunk lid opened, it might just gut him like a ... well, like a fish, as the time-honored cliche ran.

The problem was, he couldn't answer Noah even if the paint on his baby depended on it.

Or... could he? He cleared his throat and tried humming a note.

It wasn't particularly loud, or clear. His throat was sore from trying to scream earlier, and he couldn't achieve the resonance he would have liked. But, he could, in fact, hum. And trust his brain to keep the irony coming... all he could think of was, "_Why can't I breathe, whenever I think about you..._"

So, he hummed it, in short phrases, because breathing really wasn't fun at the moment, and he wouldn't do it at all right now if he didn't actually kind of need to. He just really hoped Puck could hear it.

* * *

The policewoman looked from the tow truck and the two men who were quietly conferring with the other emergency personnel back to the young man beside her, who was definitely looking much younger in the flashing lights than the 19 he'd sworn he was over the summer. His dark eyes were huge with stress and worry, and the high, sculpted cheekbones now just looked hollow and gaunt, his face abnormally pale. "Is one of them his father?" she asked in a low voice.

"I... I don't know, we... aren't really friends." He looked away, almost guiltily.

"I'll talk to them," she told him, and was rewarded with a relieved nod. She crossed back over to the tow truck.

Puck turned back to the car, leaned back over to look inside. As he did, he heard a faint sound. Hummel's voice, often ethereal (he'd heard Rachel use that word, it was a cool word, a spooky word, now weirdly muted), sounded really, well, spooky. He was... humming to himself?

"Yo, Hummel, that you?" The humming stopped, and he heard what could have been a faint sob. "Hang on, dude, help's here. Are you-," _ok _seemed really stupid here,"-hurt bad?"

The humming resumed, the only response, faint and breathy. "What the hell, Hummel?" He leaned in to listen more carefully - the musical phrases were broken up funny, enough that it took him a minute to figure out what the song was. "You're... having trouble breathing?" Kurt went silent, apparently trying to think of a song that meant yes. "Ok, got it, not surprising. Why won't you just talk to me, dude?"

He peered in through the narrow space, then called over to the policewoman, "Can I borrow your flashlight? He's awake again."

She hurried back over, handing it to him. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know. He won't talk. He just... hums." At her puzzled look, he shrugged, "_I_ dunno, he's a singer." He turned on the light and shone it into the trunk, bending to look back in. "Kurt?"

* * *

Kurt turned his head up towards where Puck was shining the light, squinting at the bright light. He heard Puck's sharply indrawn breath and curse, as the other boy realized just why Kurt had resorted to humming at him. From outside, he could hear another voice, a female voice, raised in a query, and the vehement tone of Puck's reply. Then the woman's voice reached him as she took Puck's place.

"Hi, Kurt, I'm Officer Douglas." She looked down into wide blue eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the flashlight's glare. They were pain-filled, red-rimmed, but for the moment, at least, also focused, comprehending. Blood streaked in stark contrast across his pale face from a wound somewhere under his hair, one long dark line running down across the strip of silver tape that crookedly sealed his mouth, and she fought back a surge of anger. She swallowed, cleared her throat, and deliberately gentled her tone.

"We're ready to start getting you out in a few minutes. We've decided to try to remove the rear seat and get you out that way. We're afraid that trying to open the trunk might hurt you more." When the boy's eyes closed in obvious relief and she could see tears glittering on his lashes, she knew they'd been right. "It will take a little bit longer," she warned. He nodded slightly.

She looked up as a second tow truck pulled around to the front of the car and a big man jumped down, shouting, "_Kurt!_" His eyes found her uniform and he strode towards her with a grim expression. She handed the light to Puck and went to meet him.

The light went away, and Kurt slumped back to the floor, closing his eyes again, relieved. He was, finally, getting out of here. The car jostled slightly as someone opened the doors began working on removing the seats. It hurt when they moved around, but not as much as before when the other vehicle had been moving. He could bear this, especially since it meant he'd finally be out of here.

And then he heard Puck's voice again, very softly, almost like he was trying not to let anyone hear him but Kurt. He was singing, very quietly, as if to himself, but Kurt could just catch the words, and they brought a flood of tears to his eyes again. "_Keep holding on, 'cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through, just stay strong..._"

Oddly comforting.

* * *

Even when a second loud shout rang across the scene, Puck barely faltered, only glancing over as the big man strode toward him. He recognized him, after a minute - he'd seen Kurt talking to him in the hall one day during the week where Kurt had dressed so... like he'd stolen the clothes from this man's closet.

Hummel, Sr. radiated fury like a sun and for a second Puck's instincts wanted to take over- he felt his fists clench and his spine stiffen as he turned to face Kurt's father, and he stopped singing. He watched warily as the older man checked his movement, and could see him deliberately shove the anger aside, leaving naked fear.

Puck stepped aside.

* * *

Burt Hummel had seen his kid's SUV parked crookedly across the road as he'd approached the scene of the accident, and scanned the little cluster of people gathered around the conjoined vehicles for his son's slight form. Maybe Kurt had been the one to call this in. Although Burt couldn't imagine what he'd be doing way out here.

His Nextel was beeping as he pulled around the Navigator to bring the truck up to the front of the half-crushed Toyota, but he figured that whatever it was could wait. This looked bad.

And then he saw the tarp, covering the far-too-still form lying on the side of the road.

He leaped down from the cab of the tow truck and bellowed his son's name at the top of his lungs, his eyes locked on that motionless shape. He was sure that his heart had stopped.

In the next beat, he'd realized that the shape under the tarp was too large to be Kurt's, and the world lurched painfully back into motion.

One of his mechanics was hurrying toward him with a look of apprehension on his face, but the man was intercepted by a tall policewoman, who spoke to him briefly, sending him back to talk to the rescue crew, and then headed for Burt. Her expression was professional, but her eyes were sympathetic. "Are you Mr. Hummel?"


	7. Chapter 7

Burt nodded, and once again, his heart was in his shoes. He glanced back, involuntarily, at the tarp, its edges barely stirred by the wind. She moved between it and him, deliberately breaking his line of sight then. "It's _not him_," she told him, hating that she'd still have to break bad news when his relief was so palpable. "I'm afraid, though, that he's in the car. We're trying to get him out now. We don't have all the details yet, but it seems he was in the trunk."

He shot an incredulous look over at the car where the rescue team and one of his mechanics were taking out the back seat, and felt his knees very nearly buckle. Officer Douglas continued, "It appears to have been some sort of hazing prank. They brought him here from the school and were going to leave him to find his way back."

"And one of them stole his car," Burt growled, starting toward the boy he could see standing next to the Camry.

Shaking her head, the officer stepped around in front of him. "No, Mr. Hummel. One of the boys from school saw what had happened, followed them here." She'd have to get clarification on that from Noah... "They were hit by a drunk driver. He called 911, got us here in time to save your boy's life. Stopped the other driver from doing any more harm, trying to get his truck out of here. Like I said, we're still working on the details..."

He dragged his gaze back to her face, and she continued, "Mr. Hummel, he's - Kurt?-" At his nod, she went on, "Kurt is awake, and responding when we talk to him. We don't really know if he's badly hurt yet."

He raised a hand to remove his cap and scrub at his nearly-bald head, looking away to hide a surge of emotion in a way she'd seen countless times before with men like him, and it always, always stabbed at her. "We are going to get him out of there, Mr. Hummel, and take care of him. Do you want to go let him know you're here?"

He nodded, and she saw his jaw set in an angry line. "This wasn't a _prank_, officer. He quit the football team after a couple of games. This... this is... they can't just leave him _alone_..." He strode past her toward the Camry.

Reaching it, he had to take a moment to get back under control. The kid standing beside the car was not one of the ones who'd done this - he'd only tried to help. He didn't deserve the anger Burt was carrying (even if he'd "borrowed" the Navigator). Burt took a breath, and forced the anger away. He gave the kid with the mohawk a curt nod as the boy moved away from the car to let Burt take his place, offering him the flashlight.

When the light flashed back into the trunk, Kurt couldn't help but look back at it. He'd been mentally going over what the mechanics might be doing to distract himself; suddenly, knowing that the end of all this was relatively near, he was actually getting more anxious, more impatient. The loss of Puck's presence had left him feeling oddly bereft and lonely.

Again, as soon as he turned his face to the light, the beam faltered and he heard a muffled expletive, in a gruff voice whose familiarity nearly destroyed the fragile control he'd achieved. He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort his dad, to reassure him, but all he could manage was a muted cry. He heard his dad's voice again, his father's take-charge manner belying the worry that made his voice sound so rough. "You hang in there kid, you hear me? You're gonna be fine."

Behind him, he felt them remove the seat-back, and fresh, cool fall air flooded the compartment. One of the EMTs touched his shoulder. "Ok, son, stay still, I'm going to put this collar on to protect your neck. Don't try to move, don't try to help, just relax as much as you can. We've got you."

The tape binding his wrists was cut, and his fingers began to tingle immediately. He was gently lifted ("Careful, guys, there's something sharp there under him-") from the back of the trunk. He nearly passed out again as the pain in his chest flared when they first moved him. They paused for a brief moment then to remove the tape gag, and let him catch his breath.

He fought -and failed- to not cry out when they started to lift him again and his knee began to straighten, and the simmering pain there boiled over into overwhelming, firey agony. He was unconscious when they finally had to move the truck and open the lid to free a foot trapped against the wheel well by the crumpled metal.

It was all Burt could do to stand back and wait while the EMTs worked to get his son out of the back of the car. All his instincts urged him to _get in there,_ get his arms around his kid and rescue him himself... and all he could do was watch. So he braced himself, crossing his arms over his chest and barely managing not to go shove EMTs aside when he heard Kurt's cry of pain. Instead, he reached for the mohawked kid, whose pacing was starting to drive him a little bit nuts.

Puck paced between the car and the Hummel's truck, unable to watch them work,unable to listen any longer to the small sounds of pain Kurt was trying not to make. Hummel, Sr was a silent, solid presence, planted like a tree in the middle of the road, arms crossed over his chest in an unconscious echo, to Puck's eyes, of the way Kurt often ended up hugging himself in the midst of emotional turmoil, willing his son free of the twisted metal. When that one agonized scream froze Puck in his tracks, Hummel's dad just reached and out and gripped Puck's shoulder for a moment, hard, and Puck wasn't sure which of them that was meant to reassure, but it helped.

Officer Douglas had come over as well to stand beside them as the limp form was lifted from the car to the waiting gurney. Beside her, Burt Hummel made a sound deep in his throat, and murmured, "That's a lot of blood..."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: I apologize, folks… Apparently I left a small but important chunk out text out of chapter 4. I fixed it, so if you want to go back and read it, it's there. It's a Kurt POV bit, if that helps. Sorry.

* * *

Azimio stared out the window of the police car.

He and Dave hadn't meant for any of this to happen: this was just a_ prank_, he kept telling himself, locked in the back of the police car. He sat, dazed, watching as the EMTs loaded the drunk into one of the ambulances, still in handcuffs, the sonuvabitch who'd _really_ done this. Then they'd rolled a gurney past bearing a shrouded body, and he couldn't watch that. Because that was Dave.

He and Dave had been best friends since second grade. They had done just about everything together- even though Azimio was on the football team and Karofsky played hockey, they always went to each other's games. The only time they didn't hang out almost every day was when Dave was away at football camp or Azimio had to spend a week at Christmas at his grandmother's in Indiana. They'd been in boy scouts together, gone on family camping trips together; their families even went to the same church.

Later their group would include Puck and Finn, as well, a fearless foursome, who'd ruled the school in 8th grade. Who would rule the high school as well. Top of the food chain. (Until that damn glee thing...)

Dave was dead. He'd never get the image out of his head: Dave looking back at the oncoming truck and starting to dive out of the way, the way the truck had swerved and bucked as the driver tried to stop, the awful sound of flesh hitting asphalt, even over the sound of the brakes squealing... the vacant, lifeless eyes staring up at him. The _blood_. And now, a body wheeling slowly past the police car, and the sound of the ambulance doors slamming with utter finality. Dave was gone, and Azimio wasn't even hurt, and it didn't even make any sense.

It was so unfair. It wasn't his fault; the other driver had come out of nowhere, had lost control of the truck. But he knew he'd be blamed, too.

And whatever had happened to Hummel, he was the one left, and they would blame him.

He turned his gaze back to where the rest of the EMTs and rescue workers were still working. He could see how badly mangled the back of his car was (his dad was gonna kill him, even though he hadn't even been driving at the time). He was pretty sure Hummel was dead, too.

He had held out some vague hope that it had at least been as quick for Hummel as it had been for Dave... until the drunk had tried to move the truck, and that awful sound had come from the car. A sound that had reminded him of a night camping with the Karofsky family, when they had heard the cry of a rabbit being killed by some predator. It had terrified both boys, even after their parents had reassured them that it wasn't a person, or a ghost. Hummel's screams had terrified Azimio even more, and left him feeling even more sickened and shaken in the aftermath of Dave's death.

They hadn't intended to really hurt Hummel, just scare him. Mess up his ridiculously expensive outfit. Wipe the arrogant expression off his face. Remind him that, no matter what he thought, he wasn't better than them. That he had no place in their world. That he should keep his head down, his girly, high-pitched voice down and stop doing whatever he'd done to Finn, and Puck, and Mike and Matt... stop spreading his perverted "preferences" and turning his friends gay, too. But they hadn't meant for _this_ to happen.

He watched numbly as the EMTs and one of the mechanics removed the back seat of his car. He flinched when a high-pitched cry of pain echoed over the scene, but turned away when a second gurney was hustled to the remaining ambulance, bearing a slight form, trailed by a larger man in flannel and jeans, and... Puckerman?

Azimio sagged back into the seat as the ambulance rolled off, and felt tears begin to well up. His best friend was dead. And his life was over, too.

* * *

As soon as Kurt was clear of the car, one of the mechanics headed straight for Burt. "Boss, we got the trucks, you go ahead with Kurt. You want to take the Lincoln or do you want one of us to come back for it?"

Burt nodded gratefully. "Hang on a minute. Kid-" he called to Puck, who was standing a little distance away with his hands stuffed into his pockets, talking to the policewoman, who was taking notes in a little notepad. "You got the keys to Kurt's ride?"

Puck nodded, fishing out the keys to both the truck and Kurt's SUV, and Azimio's cell phone from his jacket pocket as well. He handed Azimio's things to the cop, and tossed Kurt's keys to the mechanic Burt had spoken to, who caught them easily. Burt turned away to follow the gurney bearing Kurt towards the ambulance.

Officer Douglas closed her notepad, noticing the way Puck's eyes followed the gurney. "I think we have all we need from you for now," she told him. He'd outlined the basics for her, including how he'd come to be following in Kurt's SUV. "Come by the station tomorrow and finish your statement then." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder briefly. "I wouldn't make... borrowing... cars a habit, but you did good, Noah. You may very well have saved your friend's life, for real."

Burt looked back as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. The kid with the Mohawk stood silhouetted by the tow-truck lights, hands dug deeply into his pockets. One of the mechanics came over to see if he wanted a ride, and Burt saw the kid look over at the ambulance. The attendants were still busy setting up IVs and taking Kurt's vital signs, and Burt leaned back out. "Hey kid! c'mere a minute." When Puck jogged over, he dropped his copy of the SUV keys into his hands. "If you feel up to driving, can you follow us? So we'll have the SUV at the hospital."

Puck looked at the keys, then back at Burt, and nodded. He could totally do that. Not that he wanted to go hang out at the hospital or anything, but, he'd come this far, might as well make sure Hummel got there in one piece. And it meant another chance to drive that sweet machine. Finn hadn't even ridden in it. And he was sure Kurt never let anyone else except his dad drive it. And then he'd have to wait around until his mom got out of work and could come pick him up, so he might as well wait with Mr. Hummel.

* * *

Burt had been left behind in the swift movement from the ambulance to the ER, an apologetic nurse telling him he couldn't come any further than the door of the small room where they were working on his son. He stood in the hallway for a long moment, watching the figures in gowns and scrubs move in efficient, arcane patterns around Kurt's body and again, didn't know what to do.

Finally, spotting a payphone on the wall, he walked over to it and dug change from his pocket; you weren't supposed to use a cell phone in the hospital, and he didn't want to go any further away from Kurt than he had to, in case they needed him- in case Kurt needed him. He dropped the coins in and listened to the dial tone for a moment before coming back to himself and dialing.

Finn answered the phone, and it threw Burt for a moment. The boy had said hello for the third time and then said, "Uh, I'm gonna hang up now if you're not gonna talk..."

"Wait- Finn, sorry, it's - it's Burt. Hummel." He swallowed; his throat was suddenly very dry. "Ah... can I talk to your mom?"

He heard a brief exchange on the other end of the line, and waited, hoping she'd talk to him. He really needed her to talk to him right now. He could be strong for his son... but having her there would make it easier.

And she cared for Kurt, too... he could ask, for Kurt's sake, couldn't he?

* * *

Carole Hudson had not expected to hear from Burt Hummel again so soon. She had understood that he'd had to protect his son, she knew from Finn's guilty confession the night of the fight how badly he and the other boys at school had treated Kurt in the past, and had been shocked and angry with Finn at his use of such hateful, hurtful language.

But she'd been angry with Burt, too. It took a lot to get Finn to blow up like that, and she still wasn't entirely clear on what had happened. Burt hadn't given Finn a chance to talk things over. And Finn felt too guilty about it to talk much to her about what had happened.

She had told Burt that night, she understood that Burt needed to keep his home safe for Kurt. But she had to protect her own son, too. Finn needed a safe home every bit as much as Kurt did. Finn wasn't much older than Kurt, and he certainly couldn't fend for himself yet either. She'd had to make it clear, that if Burt threw Finn out, he was throwing her out, too.

And maybe they needed time to rethink their relationship, get everyone on the same page, and move forward more slowly, if they were going to move forward at all. They had agreed to take some time off, get through the holidays, and see how they felt after.

But Finn was ready and willing to do whatever it would take to get back into Burt's good graces, and Kurt's as well, and it wasn't just for her. So when he urged her to take the phone, she only hesitated a moment, long enough for Finn to press it into her hands. "Mom, he sounds funny, you better talk to him."

Nodding, she raised the phone to her ear. "Burt?" she asked, keeping her tone cool. "I thought we were taking a break?"

"I- I know. But..." His voice was hoarse and he couldn't manage to get anything else out.

There was something in his tone- something was wrong, badly wrong. "What is it, Burt?" she asked, worried now. Finn caught her change in manner and came back over to hover beside her anxiously. She angled the phone so he could hear.

"It's...there was an accident... Kurt's in the ER... I'm sorry to bother you, but... can you come?" He hesitated, and she could hear how worried he was- no, he was _scared_.

She gasped in dismay, one hand rising to her throat, and gestured to Finn, mouthing, "My purse and coats, hurry." He nodded, even as the color drained from his face. "Burt. We're on the way. Lima General?"

"Y-yes. Carole?"

She was already shrugging into her jacket while Finn held it for her. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

* * *

Puck came into the ER waiting room to find Burt sitting in one of the chairs staring into space. When he noticed Puck standing in the doorway, the older man scrubbed one hand over his face, clearly trying to regain some of his cool, but his eyes were damp. Puck's step faltered for a heartbeat as the Mr. Hummel rose and met his eyes. "He's... ok, isn't he?" Puck asked. "He's... not..."

"No!" Burt said a little too emphatically, as if he was trying to convince himself as well as Puck, then, more calmly, "No, he's still... with us." Burt shook his head. "They said he should be ok, but he lost a lot of blood, and there's... they have a lot of work to do. And they can't let me in."

He stared at Puck for a long moment. "So... you got the Navigator here all right? Kid loves that car..." His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. He stuck out his hand abruptly. "Burt Hummel. Kurt's dad. You're in his class?"

Puck cautiously shook the man's hand; he had a grip like a vise, and Puck made sure he'd gotten his hand free before giving Burt his name. He wasn't sure what Kurt might have said about him, after all, since he'd done some things Hummel, Sr might not think were so cool to Kurt in the past. "Noah. Noah Puckerman," he said, and braced for the explosion.


	9. Chapter 9

"Puckerman... I know that name." Puck squared his shoulders, but Burt just went on, "You're in that Glee Club he's in, aren't you. I'm... glad he has friends... who look out for him. He doesn't always make friends easily..."

Puck nodded, not sure what to say to that. He didn't think it was a good time to point out that he wasn't really someone Kurt considered a friend. Or what kind of history he and Kurt had. From what Finn had told them, with real awe in his voice, an angry Burt Hummel, in defense of his only child, was terrifying. Instead, he just handed over Burt's keys and jammed his hands back into his pockets. Burt pocketed them, and looked at the closed door between him and his son again, taking a deep breath. "I just wish... somebody'd tell me what's going on in there."

It didn't seem like there was anything to say to that, so Puck just dropped into the chair next to Burt's. He took a quick look around the ER waiting area, nearly deserted this early in the evening, and realized it was barely after six. He glanced at the television mounted on the wall. The news was on and as Puck watched, he realized with a shock that they were covering the accident. The muted voice of the news anchor seemed suddenly very loud.

"... in what seems to be a case of hazing gone wrong. One local teen is dead and another in critical condition after the car they were riding in was struck by a drunk driver..." Puck felt Burt jerk to attention and focus on the TV screen, and got up to change the channel, ignoring the protest of one man who'd been watching. His glower had convinced the other man to _shut the hell up_. When he came back to the chairs, Burt's grateful expression had been worth it.

He was just about to offer to go get Burt a coffee, just to have something to do, to move, to break the tension (before Burt got around to asking him what had happened), when the automatic doors opened, and Puck looked up to find Finn and his mom rushing towards Burt. That's right, he thought, Kurt's dad and Finn's mom, Finn had been griping about it a few weeks ago, but he thought they'd broken up...

Carole hurried over as Burt rose to his feet, and slid into his arms without hesitation. Puck turned away as Burt held her, the tight control over his emotions he'd maintained all this time cracking enough to allow a break in his voice when he said her name, and tears to brighten his eyes. He glanced over at Finn, who was giving him a wide-eyed, slightly freaked out look.

When Finn reached his side, he muttered to Puck, "It was on the radio in the car... what the hell happened, dude?"

"Yes, what happened, Burt?" Carole asked after a few moments of just holding him tightly, and letting him hold on. She didn't dare ask yet how bad it was.

He sat down again, drawing her into the seat beside him. "I...was waiting for you to get here." He looked at Puck, and once again, of all the things that had happened today, he thought this might be the hardest.

No, the hardest thing had been to hear Kurt scream and not be able to get him out.

He dropped into the chair he'd risen from when Burt had, and Finn took the next seat over, leaning in to listen as Puck began to tell the story again, his voice low.

He kept his eyes locked on his own folded hands as he began. "I... had detention today. For stealing Bell's toupe. Again." He could see Finn nod out of the corner of his eye, and continued. "D-Dave," the name stuck in his throat unexpectedly, and he had to pause a moment, clear his throat, before he could go on. "Karofsky was there too, and when we got out, he and Azimio met up. They... just looked like they had something planned, you know?" He looked over at Finn, who nodded again. "And I... after last week, I figured they might be going after one of us again."

Burt shot Finn a questioning glance over Puck's head. "This the Gaga thing?"

Finn nodded, and Puck answered, "Yeah, they've been really getting after some of us... the girls and Wheels and Hu- Kurt, especially." Burt moved restlessly beside him, and he could see the man's hands clench. "We - Finn, me, Matt and Mike warned them to leave him - them- alone, but we can't be everywhere," he said, a little defensively, not looking at Burt. After a moment, he felt Burt's hand grip his shoulder again briefly. It made him feel worse, actually.

He got up from the chair, feeling a sudden need to move, to be on his feet. Getting himself back under control - he was Puck, dammit, he would not lose it under any circumstances - he turned back and went on, and suddenly it all burst out of him in a flood of words he couldn't stop or control. "So I watched them from the window. Watched them go out to the parking lot and move Azimio's car. Watched them park it next to Kurt's, watched 'em go out of sight behind it and wait for him and watched him come out of the school, and walk into their little trap, and by then I_ knew_ what they were planning and I still _stood there_ and _watched them_ and I should have run out then and I _didn't_."

Burt's sharply indrawn breath nearly stopped him there. He stared at the toes of his sneakers, unable to meet the older man's eyes, so like Kurt's, and see the blame and anger in them. He knew he deserved it, and he could see from the white-knuckled grip Burt had on the arm of the chair that Hummel was  
struggling to keep control of his temper.

He braced himself; he deserved Mr Hummel's anger, he could have stopped this. He didn't dare look at any of them, not Burt, not Finn, staring up at him, not Mrs. Hudson, who had been like a second mother to him...

He had to finish this, get it all out, and deal with whatever came, Burt's anger, Finn's shock, Mrs. Hudson's disappointment. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

"When they came back around the car, though, I could see... he was... they'd messed him up, his clothes were torn, and he was... wobbling... and when I realized that they'd tied his hands... I ran out there, because that's not part of the whole thing..." Finn was nodding, scowling. "That's too far. I mean, we got dumped out at the farm, Finn and me, and it wasn't too bad, but they really don't like Kurt much, and it seemed like they might really hurt him."

Carole looked at Finn questioningly; he nodded again, flushing with embarrassment, and her look promised words later. Puck went on, determined to get it over with and to be brutally honest. "By the time I got out there they were driving away, and my phone went dead when I tried to call Finn. All I could see was the Navigator, so I looked for a key... Kurt had dropped his, all his stuff was on the ground. So I just grabbed them, it was all I could think to do, and I followed them. I figured if they just dropped him off I could be there to bring him home. and if they didn't... " he shrugged. "They're big guys, but I'd have the drop on them, and they're both scared of me. And they might kinda expect me to be on their side at first," he finished in a mumble.

His brain felt like it literally stopped as Burt Hummel got slowly to his feet, Carole's hand still clasped tightly in his. There was a long moment of silence as Burt regarded him, and finally he had to look up. Burt's blue eyes met his, and Burt put a hand on his shoulder again, shook him gently. "Just tell me the rest, Noah. You were there, in the end, and I haven't forgotten that."

Puck absolutely did not lean into Burt's grip for just a second, and he did not have a lump in his throat at the thought that he'd already been forgiven. He swallowed hard, and nodded. Burt's hand remained on his shoulder, bolstering him, and Carole's arm slipped around his waist. Even Finn was on his feet, and the habitual scowl he had had whenever he looked at Puck lately was gone.

So Puck cleared his throat, and went on.

"It all happened so fast... I pulled over the truck when they stopped, so they wouldn't know I was there. Karofsky went to get something from the trunk, but they hadn't taken Kurt out... and this pickup... just came flying around the corner, out of control. He clipped the Navigator... and he was swerving all over the place... he hit Karofsky and..." He trailed off, seeing the image of David Karofsky's body sprawled on the pavement again and failed to repress a shudder. "And he hit the car." The awful punch of metal on metal echoed on his head and he had to stop, take a breath. Carole squeezed him gently, and Burt nodded, his face gone ashen again. Puck could feel the man's hand on his shoulder shaking.

"So I grabbed Azimio's phone and called 911 because he was in shock because Dave was... was... dead, and I went to check on Kurt, and... talked to him til the cops came and you know the rest. I was scared to try to get him out, the car looked so messed up and I didn't know why he wouldn't answer me."

He looked up into Burt's face. "I'm so, so sorry I didn't just stop them."

Burt studied the young man before him for a long moment. Words were really not his thing.


	10. Chapter 10

Just like with Finn, he could see a lot of himself in Noah Puckerman. The strong, silent type of guy who didn't like to have anyone see him as anything less than a total badass, with a strange pride in being what Burt's dad would have called a delinquent (and had called Burt, on occasion). Which, Burt remembered well, often meant pretending not to care about anyone else at all.

It was clear, though, that Noah did care. He wouldn't have stepped in at all if he didn't. At least, not on _Kurt's_ side.

It was also plain to Burt, who'd been there himself, that Noah's protective image had been temporarily overwhelmed by this evening's events. No matter what kind of tough-guy-coat he tried to put on over it.

"Kid, like I said, you were there when it counted. You weren't the one stuffing him into a trunk, and you weren't the idiot driving drunk. Yeah, I could wish you'd kept them from taking him in the first place, but you couldn't know this would happen. You didn't abandon him, you did what you thought would help, -you _did_ help - and I can't fault you for it. Stop beating yourself up about how you didn't handle it. Because you did."

Puck still looked vaguely guilty, but the approach of one of the ER doctors interrupted them. "Are you the Hummels?" she asked as his approach caught their anxious attention.

Burt nodded, releasing Puck and turning to face him, trying to get a read on the news the matronly woman might be carrying. "I'm Burt, I'm Kurt's father. How is he?"

She gestured for the four of them to sit, but her weary half-smile was reassuring. "He's going to be all right, I think. It will take some time, and a lot of patience," Burt let out a pent-up breath, and Carole leaned her head on his shoulder in relief. "He got pretty banged up," the doctor continued, "and he has numerous lacerations - some deep cuts that needed stitches. We had to give him a couple of units of blood, as well."

She paused to let the information sink in before continuing. "We're about to send him up for X-rays now; he's got at least one broken rib, and we want to see how badly his knee is injured. I have to warn you, that his patella- his kneecap—might be broken as well, but we won't know without an X-ray since it's so swollen." Puck and Finn exchanged grim glances, as did Burt and Carole; either of those injuries would sideline Kurt for weeks. If his knee was broken, it could mean months.

She got to her feet again. "Before we send him up, though, he's awake and he wants to see you." Burt almost leaped to his feet. "He's a little groggy, we gave him something for pain, but he's a little bit... insistent." That almost drew a smile from Burt, and matching snorts from Finn and Puck. She led him towards the exam room where they'd taken Kurt.

Carole hung back with the boys until he turned back to her, half-extending a hand, and the lost look in his eyes made her rise to follow him. She dug a twenty out of her purse and handed it to Finn. "Go get something to eat, guys," she told them. "Bring us back some coffee and... I don't know, something." Then she hurried off after Burt.

Most of the ER personnel had cleared out of the small exam room, save for an orderly who was cleaning up the ragged, blood-stained remnants of the clothes Kurt had been wearing, cut away as they had worked on his injuries. As she bagged the pieces of ruined cloth, Burt felt a sudden, odd pang of distress - he would never understand Kurt's taste in clothing, but he knew how important his clothes were to Kurt, how he used them to define who he was to the world. To see them destroyed, reduced to scraps... As soon as he went home, he vowed, he would replace that jacket. _Whatever_ it cost.

He dragged his attention away from the ruined clothing to the boy on the narrow gurney, and his heart constricted painfully.

The bed had been raised so Kurt was half-reclining, and he still wore an oxygen mask. A sheet covered his usually very modest son's hips and one leg, but the other was exposed, the knee and lower leg swollen to nearly twice their normal size, and an ugly shade of purple. Burt had stop and take a breath before taking in the rest of the injuries, and he heard Carole's sharp, pained gasp beside him. Thankfully, Kurt's eyes were closed, giving his father a moment to take it all in and compose himself at least a little bit.

Someone had cleaned the blood from Kurt's skin, at least. A bandage on his forehead might have given him a rakish air - if it had been the only one. Burt could see where they'd had to shave his hair over one ear to stitch a cut that ran into his hairline. (He's gonna pitch a fit over _that_, Burt thought absently.) His face was bruised, and Burt had an ugly suspicion that the one that mottled the side of his face from chin to cheekbone had been from a hand.

Every mark stood out starkly on his son's too-pale skin, a road map of the accident and its aftermath, from the sutured and bandaged gashes on his torso to the deepening purple bruising on his chest and shoulders. Even his hands and wrists were scraped and abraded, and one of the nurses slipped in to begin cleaning and bandaging them as Burt stood there.

When he stepped forward and gently claimed the freshly-bandaged hand from the nurse, Kurt turned his head and opened his eyes, knowing his father from the hundred tiny clues familiarity provided - the scent of his aftershave combined with that of motor oil and sweat and the laundry detergent they used, the weight of his father's step in work boots, compared to the near-silent scurrying of the medical staff.

He attempted a reassuring smile, could see that his dad was also attempting the same. "You doin' ok, kid?" Burt asked him gruffly.


	11. Chapter 11

"You doin' ok, kid?" Burt asked him gruffly.

"Yeah." Kurt lifted his other hand slightly to show Burt the IV attached to it. "Whatever they put in there 's good stuff." His speech was a little slurred, his breathing was ragged, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. "I'm gonna be fine, Dad, don't worry."

"Of course you are, kid, you're a _Hummel_." Burt had to work to keep his tone even and keep his voice from cracking.

It wasn't easy; Kurt's hand in his felt so very small and light. It hurt to be so helpless in the face of his son's pain. It was a physical ache in his chest, making it heard to draw breath. His baby, his child,lying there looking so fragile, so _battered_ - and trying to reassure _him_. He was not a praying man, but Burt sent up a silent thanks to whatever guardian angel or spirit had brought Kurt through this alive, and, even more miraculously, mostly whole. It wouldn't be easy, but he'd mend, and Burt would do all he could to make sure of it. It could have been so much worse.

He wanted to gather the boy in close against him and stand as a wall against all the pain the world could throw at him, and he knew he couldn't do it. Not now - he was almost afraid even to touch Kurt- and really, not ever. His son was on the verge of adulthood, and there was only so much a father could really protect him from. What he could do, what he always _would_ do, was make sure he had a safe place to retreat when it was too much.

Carole shifted a little behind Burt, and Kurt's eyes tracked the motion for a moment before he realized who was there, and he could feel himself blushing, and his breathing got a little shallower. "Carole," he whispered. He hadn't even seen her since... "I'm so sorry..."

She shook her head, moving around the bed to take his other hand carefully in hers. "Not the time, honey," she told him, gently brushing his bangs back out of his eyes. "We can work things out, once you're on your feet again." His relieved little smile - really just a tiny lift at one corner of his mouth -had her blinking back tears.

The doctor came back over to them. "OK folks, we're ready to take him upstairs now," she said as the nurse tucked a blanket around Kurt, whose eyes had drifted closed again. "I'll come back down as soon as we know the extent of his injuries." Burt and Carole released Kurt's hands reluctantly and were ushered back out. All they could do now was wait.

As they settled into the chairs again, Burt cleared his throat and took of his cap to run a hand over his scalp again before finally looking over at Carole. "I... thanks for coming. I know it must have been..."

She interrupted him, raising one hand to lay a finger across his lips before linking her fingers through his. "I'm really glad you called, Burt. If I'd -if _we_'d- heard about this on the news, or from the school... I don't think I could stand it."

She paused, looking down the hallway where Puck and Finn were heading back towards them, deep in conversation. It was clear to her, having watched them together for years, that they were still not entirely comfortable with each other, and they might never get back to the friendship they had had. But they were better, maybe because of shock, maybe something had clicked in their young minds to make them aware that they weren't immortal, that sometimes it could all end in an instant.

That in that instant you could be gone... or someone you cared about could.

She looked back at Burt with just a trace of tears in her eyes. "I know what's to come isn't going to be easy, for you or for him, and Finn and me... we're already involved, we both care a lot about you guys. So. I want that second chance we talked about, Burt. For us, and for them. And... I think need to be here for this, and I want to. And I think Finn and me, we need you and Kurt to be there for us. I just want us to do it right, this time."

And again, Burt had to look down at their linked hands to hide how damp his own eyes had grown, and offer up another prayer of gratitude. For the miracle of his son's survival, and for second chances.

* * *

Author's note-

so, my dears….

I think this is going to stand as my conclusion for now.  
School starts next week, and I won't have time to work on much more than that, and my other story still has so far to go!

On the other hand, I do have some follow up material sketched out... Mercedes Jones watching the news... Artie reacting to friend of his being in a bad accident... Schue finding out... SUE finding out (you know the physical therapist Kerrigan had after her knee injury? Second best in the country. - the best is on permanent retainer exclusively to one National Championship winning cheerleading coach for her team's use only. Puck the reluctant hero, dealing with both the aftermath of the accident and everyone else's reaction to the fact that it was Puck who was there... a conversation between Puck and Kurt...

but. school. Bleah. Real life. Double bleah. So maybe follow up in December.


	12. Chapter 12

Awkward silence. Puck stared at the steam rising from his coffee cup, and tried not to notice that Finn was sneaking sideways looks at him, looks that were partly awestruck, partly uncertain, and largely confused. Finally, he shoved the crappy sandwich and stale chips he'd been picking at away and looked at Finn directly, his tone a little weary and a lot belligerent. "What?"

Finn's eyes jerked back up from his own plate (a hockey puck of a hamburger and a handful of cold, greasy fries) to meet Puck's, his gaze now wide and startled. "What?" he echoed. "I mean..."

With a sigh, Puck let himself fall back into the chair from his hunched over position, and scowled at Finn. "Stop looking at me like that," he snarled

"Like what?" Finn asked, but Puck could see his face redden with embarrassment.

"Like I just rescued your freakin' princess, Luigi." He scowled at the sandwich some more.

Finn just looked more bewildered. "But, dude... you just, like, saved Kurt's life."

Puck slammed both hands down flat on the table, rocketing to his feet, making the little group of nurses at a nearby table look over at them with worried and shocked expressions. "Weren't you even _listening_, dude? I didn't do _anything_, and now Hummel's all busted up up there," he gestured over his head, "and.." He shook his head, leaning forward on the table, letting his head drop between his shoulders. "I coulda stopped them," he mumbled.

Finn made a "Calm down, dude" gesture with both hands, glancing apologetically at the nurses and leaning over the table to whisper, "Dude- Puck. Sit down, you're causing a scene." Puck raised his head to glare at him, but he dropped back heavily into his seat. "What do you mean, you didn't do anything? You-"

"I _let them take him_." Puck slumped forward, burying his face in his arms, folded on the table, muffling his words.

Finn stared at the top of Puck's head uncertainly. "Puck- I woulda done the same-"

Puck sat up again, glaring at him. "No, you wouldn't. You're the guy who does things right, Finn. _You _would have stopped them. _You _would have been down there the minute Zim parked his car next to Kurt's and _you woulda had his back._" He stood up again. "I gotta go. I can't... I can't stay here. Tell your mom... thanks for dinner." Spinning on his heel, he almost ran from the cafeteria. He had to get out before he lost it, before the burning in his eyes and throat became anything else.

Finn stared after him, trying to decide whether or not he should follow. Him and Puck, they'd been close once. He'd missed that feeling, like they were almost brothers; he didn't have that with Kurt, not yet, though he was hoping they would, someday. But Puck, they'd known each other forever. And he knew that Puck in this mood just wanted to be left alone until he got things under control again, all the cracks hidden behind his bad-boy image. He sighed and snagged the chips from Puck's plate. Puck needed time to get himself together, and Finn wanted to get back to his mom and Burt anyway. That way he could call Puck if there was any news.

* * *

Dinner in the Jones household was always promptly at six, and was a strictly no electronics or distractions at the table thing. After dinner, though, Mercedes usually called or IMed with Kurt while they watched the gossip on E! and pretended to do homework. She turned on the TV in the living room as she settled into a chair, digging out her phone to speed-dial Kurt. While it was ringing, she half-watched the end of the news. It went over to voice mail and she scowled down at it. What was her boy doing? They always watched this together and snarked on the fashion choices of the stars.

The Hummel's truck on screen caught her attention, and she turned the volume up a little as the camera panned around the scene of what looked like a bad accident. A little car had been hit by a big pickup truck, rear-ended, and the tow trucks were separating the two vehicles while the reporter gave the details of the accident. "A student from McKinley high school is dead after the car he was riding in was hit by a drunk driver this evening." Her mother called to her from the kitchen to ask if her homework was done, and she turned away from the screen to answer her. "... according to information just received by this reporter, Kurt Hummel was the student riding in the trunk..."

The name caught Mercedes' attention and she turned back to the TV in shock as the reporter wrapped up the story."... More details as they become available." Then the anchors were back to do their sign off, promising again to return at eleven with more details on the accident.

Mercedes stood staring at the screen, which was now displaying a Burger King commercial, her mind struggling to put together the information whirling around in her head. "A student dead... riding in the trunk... _Kurt Hummel_..." She raised her phone slowly, and hit redial. It rang...and rang... and went to voice-mail again.

Her mother came into the living room, the annoyed look on her  
face - she'd asked Mercedes the same question three times- but the look on Mercedes' face stopped her in her tracks. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked, crossing the room to catch the phone before it could fall from her daughter's suddenly strengthless hands. "Mercy, honey?"

Turning to her mother, Mercedes burst into tears. "Momma," she sobbed, "_Kurt_..." She couldn't even finish the sentence.


	13. Chapter 13

Finn sat staring after Puck for a few minutes, trying to figure what he should do. He didn't like the idea of Puck out on his own feeling as obviously messed up as he did right now, but he also didn't want to chase him down. Puck wouldn't appreciate another dude chasing him to get him to talk about his feelings. He took out his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

Quinn would be a good choice (she lived with Puck and his mom right now, she might find it easier to talk to him and calm him down _shewascarryingpuck'sbaby_) but he wasn't really ready to talk to her yet. He supposed that once the news got out, he'd have to, and that might be ok, but he couldn't call her like this. (And then again, he thought suddenly, maybe calling the pregnant girl with bad news like this would be bad for her and for the baby, too.)

Maybe Mike or Matt... But he couldn't get through to either of them, and this... didn't seem like something to day in a text. That left Santana. Not the most sympathetic ear he could imagine, but she could usually get around Puck, and Finn thought he really shouldn't be alone right now.

Santana always sounded bored when she answered the phone. "Hey, Finnster. You finally wake up to the awesomeness that I am, or did you just forget what our Spanish homework is again?"

Now that he had her on the phone, he was kinda at a loss. "Um... no. Um... can you call Puck? Something... happened? Something bad."

He heard her sharp intake of breath. "What did you do to my boy, Hudson? Or was it Quinn, again?"

"No! Nothing like that. It's..." He paused. How the hell did you tell someone this kind of thing? He really felt bad for Burt, having to call his mom and tell her. "We're at the hospital. Lima General. There was an accident. Puck's not hurt!" he hurried to tell her as she made another weird hissing sound. "But he saw the whole thing. And... Kurt got hurt. It sounds... kinda bad. And now Puck's just run off, and... he'd kinda upset, and he doesn't wanna talk to me. Or anybody. But he might talk to you."

She sighed, a huff of exasperation masking real worry, and anger. Anger was easier. "Shut up. Finn. I'll find him. You might want to call some of the others. If this is such a big deal. Like, some of them might care that Hummel's hurt." She hung up on him.

He stared at his phone and sighed. This had been hard enough when it was Santana. Talking to Artie, or Mercedes? He didn't think he could do it. Especially Mercedes. Who should he call?

-

* * *

Artie's mom came into the den where he and Tina had been playing Mario Kart while they waited for her to finish making dinner. She paused in the doorway, watching them laughing and jostling each other playfully. Her stomach clenched; she still had flashbacks to the accident that had partially paralyzed her son, and she knew he still sometimes had nightmares, too. He'd adjusted so well, really, but still, she knew that the kind of news she was bearing would upset him.

When he looked up and grinned at her, she almost didn't tell him. Surely this could wait until morning, so she didn't have to ruin his night with Tina? "Mom? What's wrong?" She became aware abruptly that his smile had faded and now he and Tina were now staring at her worriedly. He must have asked her at least once already if dinner was ready before realizing that she hadn't come in to tell him that.

She couldn't put it off, really, she realized. Artie practically lived on the Internet, and she was pretty sure that within the hour Facebook and AIM would be buzzing with the news, if someone didn't text of call him in the next minute, really. It was just luck she'd seen the news first, and he and Tina had been involved in a game that _wasn't_ online for a change. So she drew the hassock over to beside his chair and sat down, taking a deep breath.

Tina clutched the controller, watching Mrs. Abrams' face as she came in and feeling the pit of her stomach start to clench. Whatever was going on here, it couldn't be good, and she wasn't sure she should be here. If it was bad family news, she should give them privacy. So she stood up quickly and dropped the controller back onto the couch. "Um... I need to use the bathroom anyway..." she began nervously.

Mrs. Abrams reached out and caught at her hand as she started by, shaking her head, and that really kinda freaked Tina out a little but, because Artie's mom really wasn't the touchy-feely sort, she was actually kind of reserved with anyone outside the family from what Tina had seen so far. She seemed to like Tina well enough but she hadn't ever even hugged her before, so... this was kind of... She forced herself to focus on what the woman was saying as she let herself be guided back into her seat.

"This... concerns you, too, Tina," Mrs. Abrams began, which made the teens exchange worried looks. "I..." She faltered, looking from one to the other, and Artie was really worried now. He hadn't heard the phone ring, but if it was Mom's cell, he might not. Had something happened to his dad? Tina's parents? She took his hand and continued. "There was something just now on the news... A boy from your school was ... killed. In a car accident."

Tina grabbed Artie's hand and held on hard. He could feel her hand shaking as he clasped it, joining the three of them into a little circle, and feel his heart pounding hard. "Who... who was it?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse and strained to his own ears.

"The boy who was killed was named Karofsky. David, I think. But.."

For a moment, Artie lost track of what she was saying, giddy with relief, (and guilt- because at least it wasn't someone he _liked_) and he could feel Tina's hand in his relax a little bit. Karofsky... was _dead_? He couldn't quite figure out how to feel about that.

On the one hand... Karofsky had tortured him, and Tina (And Mercedes and Rachel and Kurt and even Finn and Quinn) for the whole time they'd been in high school. But at the same time... the guy was _dead?_ As in... _gone? forever?_ As in, never gonna slushie Tina again, or shove Artie's chair into the corner behind the fire doors where it took him forever to work his way out again? As in...

Tina's hand clenching painfully tightly around his grounded him again, her sharp gasp - or was that a sob?- bringing his attention back to what his mother was saying.

"... is in the hospital, according to the news." His mom was looking at him with worry in her eyes, and Tina had sort of collapsed in on herself, still clenching her fingers around his, her eyes squeezed shut with tears still escaping to roll down her cheeks. Tina wouldn't cry like this over _Karofsky_. Sure, it was a shock, and the guy... didn't deserve to be dead... even for what he'd done to them across the last few years. But. "Wait, what?" he asked, bewildered. "Who?"

"Kurt Hummel? I know you've mentioned him. He was hurt in the accident. Though I don't know why he would have been riding in the_ trunk_... that's a really foolish stunt..."

It was like a punch in the gut. Artie felt all the air leave his lungs as he doubled over, folding around Tina's hand which he clutched like a lifeline as he just tried to remember how to breathe. But it was so hard because he couldn't help thinking about _that day _when everything had changed and the sound of brakes screaming and the punch of impact and the groan of metal tearing and the feeling of being flung around as the car rolled over and the metallic smell of _somuchblood_ and how much it had hurt before he blacked out out and ohgodohgodhewasgonna_die_.

Tina knelt beside his chair, her arm around his shoulders , looking up with terrified eyes at Mrs. Abrams as the older woman rubbed Artie's back gently and spoke to him softly, her voice soothing. After a few moments, Artie seemed to get himself under control again, and she could feel the rigid muscles in his shoulders relaxing under her arm. "Flashbacks," Artie's mom told her, her eyes filled with grief and guilt and tears. "I... kind of expected it."

Artie slowly straightened up. He was ok, he told himself firmly. He was ok, it wasn't him lying hurt in a hospital bed, hadn't been him this time when... this time. He took a deep, shuddery breath and leaned into Tina's arms with a grateful and apologetic look. "I'm ok. It was just..." He shrugged, and his mom nodded, and he felt so bad seeing the guilt etched into the worry-lines on her face. "Anyway... Can you tell me again what happened? Please? Because... I don't really understand..."

"Yeah," Tina spoke up, a little hesitantly. "Why... Kurt wouldn't..." Mrs. Abrams looked as confused as Tina guessed she herself did. "Kurt would never even get into a car with Karofsky, never. So... why would he be in the trunk? That makes no sense."

"The news just said he was riding in the trunk when the car was hit. I missed the first part, I'm afraid, so if they said anything about why, I didn't get it," Mrs. Abrams said after a moment, still watching her son worriedly.

Artie shook his head sharply. Tina's right, he'd never. Karofsky's... Karofsky _was_ ...a bully, mom, and he made Kurt's life miserable. If Kurt was in his car... he wasn't there of his own free will." He looked over at Tina, who nodded agreement, reaching up to scrub angrily at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her fingerless glove. Her makeup was ruined and her eyelashes were spiky with tears and she was looking at him with so much worry still in her eyes, and he just loved her so much.

He squeezed her hand gently. "I'm ok, Tee, really," he reassured her. "I just... Mom... did they say where Kurt is? Can we... go there? Please?"

His mom looked shocked at the request; Artie hated hospitals. But he really wanted to be there for Kurt. So she only hesitated a moment before nodding slowly. "I would imagine they went to Lima General. I'll go get your father." She rose, patting him gently on the shoulder, and left the room.

Tina looked over at him. "You sure you're ok with this?" she asked him quietly, still looking worried. He'd gone so pale, and his reaction had scared her so much. He still looked and sounded really shaky, but he gave her a determined nod. "Ok, then. I'd... better fix my face. Should we call Mercedes? See if she knows anything?"

"Oh, god," he said, shaking his head. "If she's heard... she'll be on her way there, too. She might know more than we do. But if she hasn't..." He looked up at her pleadingly. "I can't do it... I just can't."

She nodded. "I'll do it then. Just... give me a minute to.." She got up, and headed for the bathroom. She wanted to wash her face and take a minute to collect herself after the double - triple - shock. Karofsky was dead, Kurt was hurt... and Artie. And she didn't even want to think about how Mercedes was gonna be. And she'd have to call her own parents, too. This was gonna be a long night.


End file.
